


First Notes

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Study, Prompt Fic, Sherlock and his violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:07:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21788770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: He wasn't ready to play, not yet. Written for WAdvent Open Posting Day #2 Over on Watson's Woes.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Watson's Woes WAdvent 2019





	First Notes

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Первые ноты](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22145800) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> Warnings: Nothing resembling a plot. Random speculation on Sherlock's early history with the violin. And written in a complete rush. You have been warned.

Sherlock held his violin loosely, upright, resting its bottom edge against his leg. He wasn’t ready to play, not yet. Instead he drew his bow silently across the strings, making no sound.

Across the room, John looked up, his eyes drawn by the motion. He gave Sherlock a faint smile, uncertain, before turning back to continue unpacking his books.

Interesting. Most people would have made a comment, or worse, asked him to play. John was interested in the violin, or more precisely in Sherlock holding a violin, but seemed content to wait for Sherlock to play, or not, however it came out.

Unusual. And rather comfortable in a way that Sherlock wasn’t used to.

He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted to play the violin. He knew there must have been such a time – presumably he hadn’t cared about it one way or another as an infant – but that was irrelevant. The sounds it made, the look of the instrument, the way it felt when first placed in his hands; that was everything. It was one of the few things in his life that he neither understood the origin of, nor particularly wanted to. The need was enough. The violin was enough.

It was a great-uncle who’d listened to his young self, and who’d given him his first violin and paid for the first lessons. Sherlock only had two clear memories of him: of the old man listening, really listening, when his young self had spoken of the violin; and of hearing him play his own violin that day, just before he’d presented Sherlock with his first instrument.

He’d understood. That had been just as wonderful, just as comforting, in its own way as the violin itself. No one else really had, not even Mycroft. His parents certainly hadn’t. They’d been enthusiastic about his early progress. His first teachers had called him a prodigy, which had given them ideas. But Sherlock, while he had always loved playing the violin, was no more biddable in that respect than he was in any other. He enjoyed the applause, the adulation, but not half as much as he disliked being told what to play, what to do, how to act. He preferred his own music, and learned to choose his own audiences.

First, foremost, and always, he played for himself. He rarely played for others, unless it was needed as part of a disguise, or as a diversion.

Now here was John Watson. And much to his surprise, Sherlock found he didn’t exactly dislike the idea of John hearing him play.

Unusual. Unexpected. Worthy of investigating.

Slanting a slight smile at his new flatmate, Sherlock raised his violin and bow into their correct positions, and began to play.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted December 13, 2019.


End file.
